This body is not mine, it was loaned to me by Mother Nature, and one day Father Time will take it away. But who I truly am isn’t made of flesh and bones…
I am made of the same healing water than gives life to the earth
the same wise wind that has seen every corner of the world
the same stardust that created the Galaxy,
and just like everything else that exists, one day my energy will be recycled to experience life in a new way, and to contribute in a new way. With the time I have in this body, I want to live the best life I can, to create a better future.
Drowning On Dry Land
As kids, we used to play a game every summer. We would grab all the sinker toys we had, and throw them in the pool, one at a time. The first one we’d throw way down in the deep end, the next would be dropped right next to the edge of the wall at the shallow end, the third would be somewhere in the middle, the fourth would be back towards the shallow end, the fifth would be back in the deep end, and on and on it went. We were trying to drop them in the most difficult order we could, for the other person to try and jump in and pick them all up in one breath. We were so competitive, we’d swim and swim and hold our breath until our chests ached, risking drowning at times, too stubborn to come up for air and lose the game.
I remember that ache in my chest. My lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves. I’d start exhaling a little at a time, so that all my breath would be gone by the time I reached the surface of the water, all the sinker toys in my hands, and I could gasp for air; my lungs would immediately fill with air, and without missing a beat, I’d start throwing the sinker toys to opposite ends of the pool for the next person to try.
I remember that ache in my chest. I felt it from the moment I woke up for work this morning. But I wasn’t under water, I wasn’t holding my breath, I wasn’t playing a game.
I’ve only had the wind knocked out of me once. I was walking down the stairs holding an overflowing basket of laundry. I couldn’t see where I was going, missed a step, slid down on my back, and landed hard on the tile floor. As I hit the floor, all of the air in my lungs left my body in the form of a yell. My parents came running at the sound. I tried to tell them what happened, but I had no breath in me to push out any words. I tried to fill them again, but it was like my lungs forgot how to work. I inhaled, and inhaled, and somehow my lungs never felt full. It felt like the air reached the top part of my lungs, but couldn’t reach deeper into the rest of them; it was like they were blocked off, airtight. Slowly, that barricade felt like it was being pushed back, and slowly I was able to fill my lungs again.
I still have that barricade in my lungs.
I woke up today with an ache in my chest, with a barricade in my lungs.
I’ve become somewhat used to that barricade. It’s an unwanted visitor that overstays their welcome and disrupts the normal flow of my life. If I take a deep breath, that barricade stops the air from reaching the bottom corners of my lungs; stops me from feeling like I can take a deep breath. But I don’t have to take a deep breath all the time, so for the most part I can ignore it.
The ache in my chest is harder to ignore. It pulls my focus, and says, “Hey, don’t forget about that barricade in your lungs. Don’t forget you can’t breathe all the way”. That ache doesn’t care if I’m driving my car, in the middle of a project at work, laughing at a joke, teaching a class, watching a great movie, trying to meet a deadline, trying to sleep, trying to eat… it doesn’t care.
It’s very, very easy to give into the fear that comes with that: with feeling like you can’t breathe. It’s so incredibly easy to start freaking out, and to start trying over and over again to fill my lungs. Experience has taught me that freaking out about it won’t make it go away. Freaking out about it turns it from manageable anxiety, to an anxiety attack.
Most days, I accept the barricade in my lungs. Instead of being upset that it’s there and making it worse, I assign a number to it. On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is it today? I focus on that number. I tell myself that I can manage that, and I don’t let the number get any higher. Instead of paying attention to the ache in my chest, I write that number down, then I draw it, then I write it over and over in a pattern. I focus on that number. For the most part, it helps. But sometimes, that ache in my chest decides it’s tired of being ignored.
I’ll be in the middle of a task at work, or have my eyes glued to the tv screen stuck on a show or movie, or talking to someone in the elevator on my way up from break at work, perfectly content, not even noticing that ache in my chest, and out of nowhere with no warning, I start having an anxiety attack.
For me, the start of an anxiety attack is like having the wind knocked out of me without warning. Fear takes over, the barricade jumps back to the top of my lungs. Then my hands shake and tingle like they fell asleep, my heart pounds so hard in my chest I can see it moving, my body temperature switches back and forth between rising and I feel too hot to chills where feel like I’m freezing, my legs feel empty and weak, I get dizzy, the ache in my chest gets worse and worse, my stomach knots up, and I start sweating.
Occasionally, when I reach this point, I can stop it before I have a full on attack. I can focus on my number, exhale all my breath and hold it like that, like I did as a kid playing that game in the pool. I just have to hold it like that, and be uncomfortable for a little bit, and then take a huge breath and let the air fill all the way to the bottom of my lungs. Sometimes I have to do that over and over again, until it works. When it does, I can go back to my normal annoying ache in my chest.
But most of the time, it happens too suddenly for me to hold it off. All of a sudden I’m gasping for air, thinking over and over again, “I can’t breathe”. I get scared. Even though by now I know exactly what is happening, and that I’ll be okay, I get terrified. On top of everything my body is already going through, my muscles in my neck and shoulders tense up, and tears start pouring from my eyes uncontrollably, and the pain in my chest gets worse and worse. I know I can breathe. I am breathing in, and out, and I have enough air to say the words, “I can’t breathe”. I know air is getting into my lungs, but I can’t catch my breath. Sometimes I get nauseous, and sometimes my vision blurs. I’ve had attacks that last a few minutes, and I’ve had attacks that go on for hours, literally hours. My brother once told me that sometimes people pass out from their anxiety attacks, and it’s like a reset button. I’ve wished over and over again my body would reset itself, but I’ve never been that lucky. I’ve always had to ride my attacks out until they were done.
Sometimes different things can help calm me down, but nothing works every time. Taking as deep a breath as I can, holding it a few seconds and blowing it out fast over and over again sometimes helps. Putting ice or something cold on the back of my neck can sometimes stop the attack immediately. Pushing out all my air and holding it like that as long as I can sometimes helps..
After an anxiety attack, I feel empty. Like all of my insides, and all of my energy, and all of my emotions, and all of my thoughts have been drained out of me. I usually need to lie down and rest, or to sleep. Sometimes I’m able to breathe normally after, but other times that barricade is still in the bottom of my lungs.
I woke up today with an ache in my chest, with a barricade in my lungs.
I didn’t assign a number to my anxiety today. It wasn’t bad enough that I felt I needed to, looking back now, it was at like a 3. Compared to the 5 I had yesterday, and the 8 I had Friday, a 3 was no big deal. I had a pretty good day. I got a lot of work done, I joked around, I didn’t have to be the mean bitchy supervisor to anyone at the office, and I wasn’t worried about that ache in my chest. And then, the workday was almost over. I started to get really warm, but the office is usually warm at the end of the day so I ignored it. My stomach was cramping, but I had some high number days recently, I’m used to my stomach being in knots. And then that ache in my chest got bad, and that barricade in my lungs jumped to the top of my lungs. I got nauseous, and too hot, and my hands were shaking.
I tried so hard to just keep working. I tried to slow everything down, and relax, but it wasn’t working. I tried to go outside and get some fresh air, but I was so dizzy that I just sat down on the top step in the stairwell instead. Then I got the chills and felt like I was freezing cold. I started crying and trying to breathe, but I couldn’t.
I was going to be off work in 15 minutes, and was going to have to rush to the studio because I said I would sub classes today. So I told myself to be done with the attack by the time I had to leave. I told myself that if I let it happen, and quickly, that I could just move on and go on with my day like I’ve done so many times before. But it didn’t work. I thought I got myself together and went back to my desk, but it came right back.
So there I was, at work, in the middle of an anxiety attack, having someone else call my boss at the studio to let them know (last minute, ugh) that I couldn’t come in because I couldn’t talk enough to get out more than a few syllables at a time. It was the worst attack I’ve had in a while, and as usual, I have no idea where it came from.
I wasn’t sulking, or thinking about stressful things, or feeling lonely, or feeling sorry for myself, I wasn’t working myself up; I was actually having a pretty good day. That’s probably one of the most frustrating parts. People don’t understand. They want a reason. They want to know what I’m anxious about, or what triggered it. It gets dismissed as me being too emotional, or as something that’s not a big deal.
During an attack, people try to help. They tell me to breathe, or try to remind me that I am breathing. And I appreciate them trying to help, just having someone there with me saying it’ll be okay does help (not enough to stop it, but it’s less scary than when I’m alone). But telling me to breathe, just reminds me that you have no idea what I’m going through. I am breathing, it’s not enough, it’s not working, it’s not filling my lungs. If it were that simple, I wouldn’t be here freaking out.
But it always stops eventually. The barricade in my lungs is back down to the bottom corners, and the ache in my chest is barely noticeable. I’m tired, and my eyes are raw from crying. I’m tired. I feel embarrassed that I had an attack at work again, and I feel ashamed that I wasn’t able to go into the studio to teach. And I feel like a time bomb, just waiting for the next attack.
It’s almost like a terrifying version of that game I used to play as a kid. Like I’m waiting for the time when the sinker toys are just too many and too spread out for me be able to get them all in one breath; waiting for the time when I can’t go without air long enough to break the surface of the water and fill my lungs. It’s like I’m drowning on dry land.
I’ll either see you at the top, or from the top
Yesterday, I stepped out of my comfort zone.
I’ve done professional photo-shoots before. I’ve been doing them since I was probably 8 or 9 years old.
But this was different.
This shoot wasn’t something I was working for other people. I wasn’t representing a company, an artist, or a show. I wasn’t restricted to behave any type of way. I didn’t have guidelines, spoken or unspoken, about how I should or shouldn’t look or pose. Mostly, I worked with people that either personally wanted, or professionally needed, me to keep things PG rated.
Not to say that this has ever been an issue for me, but now there wasn’t going to be someone drawing the line for me about what was acceptable. I’ve never had the opportunity to draw that line for myself before. I’ve always had a slightly rebellious personality; so subconsciously, it was all of a sudden time to decide how far I wanted to push this freedom. I didn’t have a problem with my PG rated box I was living in. It was comfortable, easy, and familiar. But now there are new places to go, and I have no gauge of what’s comfortable for me there.
There are a lot of people that I’ve worked with, that can tell you how uncomfortable I am with very sexual dances, or attracting that type of attention in a public way. Yes, I can be super sexual, but only on my terms. Putting that out there for people I’ll never even meet to see, is hard for me. Putting myself out there like that for people I’m not intimate with, but work with and see a lot, is hard for me. I’ve done my best when I’ve been in those situations to come out of my shell because I don’t see anything morally or ethically wrong with it, it’s just not something I’ve been comfortable with personally.
Yesterday, the photo-shoot I did became pretty sexy. It fit the theme, and I was fully clothed the entire time, and if I saw anyone else’s photos looking like mine did, I would have said how great they looked. But from the second I saw them, and maybe a little bit during taking them, I questioned them. How do I really feel about putting pictures of me out there for criticism? How do I feel about the potential unwanted sexual attention that could result from them?
And then, I decided to post them, even though I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I think I was truly curious to see the outcome. If this is something I’m considering doing, I need to firmly decide where my line is. Because since I don’t see anything wrong with sexy, or even nude, photos, I can easily be swept up in the moment and cross the line of what I’m comfortable putting out there. So, these are borderline for me. I decided to test the waters.
As expected, comments were left by guys I didn’t know, but nothing gross or crossing a line. I wasn’t DMed at all, let alone by guys trying to flirt. I got all encouraging feedback from family and friends.
But a few people made passive-aggressive negative comments, and there was hesitation in the voice of one or two people’s whose opinion I respect. One or two of the poses were borderline for them too.
And even though it’s irrational, I felt a tiny bit of offense at that hesitation in their voices. I was asking for their honest opinion, because I wanted it. I value their thoughts, and beliefs, and even though we don’t always see eye-to-eye, there’s always a respect between us. And I did respect what they were saying. It was constructive-criticism: a compliment. But secretly I was hoping for them to say I was still within the line. I wanted them to draw that line for me, because it’s easier that way. But they can’t do that. There isn’t a line anymore. There are only opinions and comfort levels.
My opinion is that there’s nothing wrong with the pictures I took. My comfort level right now is this. These photos are my line. They’re borderline, so anything more would be too much for me. I decided to proudly share my work from yesterday. Maybe in the future that line will move for me, in one direction or the other, but as of now, this is it.
So people can make comments, they can call me names, and they can act like these photos lower my value. They can pick the photos apart, and make fun of my flaws. They can act like I need attention to think something of myself, or that people are misplacing their compliments and I don’t actually look good.
But all that means is you’re noticing me. You feel a need to ‘put me in my place’ because you think I’m rising above it. You can act like I’m deluding myself into thinking higher of me than I actually am.
But I noticed that all my life, people want to push and pull me back down any time I start making moves to something more… that just means I’m growing, and it threatens you. Experience has taught me time and again that those threatened by my growth are those that feel like my competition. Well, I love competition; I’ll either see you at the top, or from the top – the decision is yours, but either way, I’ll be up there.
Slowly, it gets easier…
Painful memories can haunt us if we’re not careful.
I barely ever remember my dreams. If I remember that I dreamed at all, I can usually just recall fragments, or emotions, and then they fade away. This morning was no different. I woke up, and remembered I was dreaming that I was a mother again. I couldn’t remember anything else about it. I was still half asleep, not entirely back to the real world, and still partially in my subconscious where my mind forces me to see the things that haunt me. I heard little footsteps. Anyone that’s lived with a kid knows what I heard. The sound of little feet running to your room in the morning to hoist their little leg up onto the mattress, and pull themselves up to crawl over to you… maybe to say ‘I’m hungry’, or ‘can I play videogames’, or to have an epic war of pillow fights, and slow motion upper-cuts, and saving whoever fell off the bed until we were too tired to continue.
I knew as soon as I heard the sound that it wasn’t real, but that didn’t stop a million memories from rushing back to me.
I know what triggered the dream, and the memories. I also know that I made the right choice three years ago (is it possible that three years have already passed?) , but the guilt of leaving behind a little boy, and destroying one of the most constant things in his little life, stays with me.
It’s getting easier. It used to be every single day that I thought about it, and felt like I was hit with a pillowcase full of bricks in the chest. Now, it’s not so bad. It’s maybe once a week that I think of him, and its maybe once every few months that I feel my heart sink in sadness and guilt at the memory of him.
This morning, instead of a pillowcase full of bricks, I felt like I was suffocating. Like I was in a glass case that was running out of air, and all I could do was look out of it at the memories of seeing tears streaming down the face of a little boy that was too young to understand why me and his daddy weren’t going to be living together anymore.
He was too young to understand that his daddy was in more pain than he knew how to handle. He didn’t understand that when his daddy said and did these things that hurt his feelings and confused him, that he was actually trying to hurt me. To make me feel his pain, and using him was the way to rip out my heart.
He didn’t understand that I put myself, and his dad, in more pain by trying to still be around for him… because even in a decision to do what was best for me, I was still trying to sacrifice myself to do what was best for him.
He was too young to understand that I wasn’t around anymore because his dad was still hurting, and unable to let go of me. And years later, I still can’t see him because his dad is still not able to separate his pain from the situation.
If I’m not careful, my mind will still wander to him. I wonder how he’s doing in school, and if he’s making friends; if his laugh is still the same, or if he’s grown out of that deep, uncontrollable, belly-laugh when you’re play-fighting and start tickling him. I wonder if he still idolized the good guys in super hero movies, and wants to help them when he gets bigger; and if he still shuts down and closes all his doors when he thinks he’s in trouble.
But it’s not my place to worry about him understanding his homework anymore, or learning to be patient when he’s frustrated; or learning to say sorry when he accidentally does something wrong, or if the kids at school are nice to him, and he’s nice to them. I’m not supposed to worry about if he’s eating his vegetables, and playing outside enough. I don’t get to teach him things anymore. I don’t get to wake up in the morning, and know that I’m going to work to take care of someone who’s life means more to me than my own. I don’t have that calm sense of purpose anymore that comes with raising a child.
He taught me to not be scared. He taught me that I’m stronger than my fears. He taught me to open my heart up, and let someone in without worrying that they’ll hurt you. I feel selfish for missing him, because I know loving, and capable parents and family that keep him safe, and happy, and nurtured surround him, and he doesn’t need me.
I wonder if he misses me, or even remembers the happy times together. I worry he only remembers the breakup, and that his dad and me hurt him with our actions. I wish I could still be there for his firsts, and for picking him up from school and asking about his day. I wish I could still be there for his meltdowns, and jokes, and games, and setbacks, and life. I wish I were going to be there for his first date, for his high school graduation, for his first heartbreak…
But slowly, it gets easier.
A letter…
To the person that changed my soul:
After all this time, there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about you. I opened my heart to you in a way I have never experienced before, and have never experienced since. You gave my life such joy, and purpose, and you allowed me to love you without restraint. You showed me how wrong I was about myself, and that I am capable of rising above my deepest fear. If it were possible, I would still be in your life. I would still be there for you every single day; but as much as it breaks my heart, that’s not possible. The only hope that I allow myself to have, is that one day, I may be able to see you and be there for you again.
I feel like I’ve missed so much, and I don’t know if you can forgive me for that. I don’t know if you can understand why I’m not around. Just know that every single one of your tears broke my heart into a million pieces, and if I could have protected you better, I would have. Saying goodbye to you was impossible for me. I put so much of myself into being all I could be for you, that stepping away was like leaving a part of myself behind.
I hope that you are happy, and feel loved. I hope that you are learning, and utilizing how smart you are. I hope that you are growing with integrity, becoming responsible and honest. I hope you are developing your imagination and creativity, because that was what make you smile the most… and you have such a beautiful smile.
If there is ever a day where you need me, I will always be here. I still love you.
always yours,
Jenmer
Fireflies and Stars
I remember catching fireflies in my backyard as a child. I would run around in the calm night air, cupping my hands and trapping them, carefully peeking between my fingers to see it flash up close before sticking it in a jar. I’d be smiling and laughing the whole time, enjoying this magical experience that could never happen during the day.
As far back as I can remember, I loved being out at night. I would just look up at the moon and stars, and I would feel a sense of peace wash over me. There was something about the night air, the small amount of warm light that spilled out the windows of the house into the backyard, and the sound of crickets chirping all around me that made me feel safe. Even though I was scared of the dark inside the house, it brought me comfort outside. Even though there were always mysterious noises and shadows whose cause was always just out of sight, somehow the entire world seemed to be resting. It felt like if I stayed there laying on my back looking at the sky and listening, the earth would tell me a big secret, or the meaning of life, or maybe just something worth knowing, but it seemed my parents would always call me inside before I was finished hearing whatever truth I was being taught.
Things have always seemed more real to me when they happen in the night air. I feel that the daylight is deceiving; it’s supposed to show things more clearly, but really it only sheds light on those things that come forward- it casts a shadow on what is in the background. But in the night, everything blends together. Nothing is more prevalent unless you go up and focus on it. …And you can see the stars at night… Light does not illuminate everything. Light is distracting; it pulls your attention to what’s easiest to see. But in life, the easiest things are rarely worth the attention they are given. It’s what is hidden, or underneath, or behind, what is not easily visible, that matters most. It’s the connection you feel to the author’s words hidden beneath the cover of a book that moves you to tears. It’s the thought behind the gift hidden beneath the fancy wrapping paper and bow that brings a huge smile to your face. The things that matter most are hidden in the shadow of something else.
That’s why I like the night. All the shadows get to come out of hiding, and join the rest of the world. The things we pay so much attention to during the day seem so much smaller and less important. It’s only at night that the stars, hidden by the sun all day, get to shine and show their beauty. The sky seems clear and empty during the day. Sometimes clouds obscure our view of it, but clouds are fleeting, and never stick around for too long. The daytime sky has nothing to reach for. But the night sky hangs billions of stars for us to see. The night sky shows us billions of other places that exist in the universe. The night sky is never empty, but always shows us the possibilities we can’t see when the light of the sun is obscuring our perspective. And it shows those possibilities night after night, without fail.
Those fireflies I used to catch in my backyard were little stars to me. Stars I could reach out and grab, and peek at up close and personal. Stars I could keep for myself, or share with someone, or that I could set free. Or, I could just run through them, with the freedom and security in knowing that they were there for me the catch when I was ready to take one and see it’s light up close. But they didn’t come out during the day. I couldn’t experience the magic of holding a star in my hands during the day. I actually never thought about them when the sun was out. When I was focused on what the sun illuminated, I forgot about the magic stars I could hold in my hands. Light has a way of distracting us from what the dark can show.
Black and White and Gray
Things are never as black and white as they should be.
They say ‘black and white’ to show simplicity. Right and wrong. Good and bad. There is supposed to be no debate on something that is black and white. But, if I look at a black and white photo, all I see are millions of greys. To me, everything is situational. Something that is supposed to be wrong can be justified, or even right, in certain circumstances. And something that is right is not the best in every situation. Right and wrong is man-made… it is a matter of opinion, not a fact. But we cling to the idea of it. It is engrained into our minds from birth.
I believe, that there is an agreed upon right and wrong, to live in the society we have created. IF we want to live and coexist with the people around us, THEN this is right and that is wrong. But, if society said so, then that would be right, and this would be wrong.
So, the argument becomes, if something is right for me, but is deemed wrong by society, is it still wrong? Does my personal need for growth and experience outweigh the decided rules of the society I am a part of?
I did something that is considered wrong by societies standards. And, before I found myself in this situation, I believed it to be a black and white issue. Through my experience, and through talking to others that have gone through the same thing, I no longer see this as a simple ‘right and wrong’ situation.
This thing that is quickly deemed wrong, was an experience that helped me and the other involved grow. We learned so much about who we are, we matured, we developed into more positive and productive mentalities, we experienced things I could not put into words, we developed our crafts, and we ultimately ended the experience not only recognizing the development we each had, but recognizing others in our lives and how they fit, or didn’t fit, into who we had become through this.
This was almost an entirely positive time of development. But, it was wrong.
I went to church today…
So, today was the first time I’ve gone to church in a very long time. The reason this is a big deal for me is because I’ve reached a point where I’m not a fan of organized religion. I disagree with the rituals, the rules, and some of the things/beliefs that are taught. However, I see why it resonates with so many people, and feel that if it works for others, they should participate in it. My beliefs and opinions are just that, mine. I recognize how different they are from others, and don’t feel that other people are necessarily wrong. I feel that all religions boil down to the same core: treat others well, and do good things, and it will come back to you. In Christian faiths, this the God’s reward for your good deeds; in Eastern faiths, this is Karma; different religions have different names for it. I feel that in some ways, all the religions are ‘right’, and whatever resonates with a person is what they should follow.
Personally, I don’t like how often religion is used for controlling the masses. I don’t like how often religions that preach acceptance and love, actually turn around and judge and shun those they disagree with. I don’t agree that if a special person says some special words over a glass of wine and loaf of bread, that it becomes a special glass of wine and loaf of bread; and i don’t believe participating in this ritual brings me any closer to God. I don’t like the idea that I need to ‘earn’ my way into heaven, and that any act I carry out in my extremely short amount of time on Earth can damn me to an eternity of suffering in hell, especially from a father-figure that is supposed to have unconditional love for me. The more i research different religions, the more i disagree with them. But i want to be clear that it is the details I have issues with, not the core beliefs.
I was raised Lutheran – for anyone that doesn’t know what that is, my favorite description I’ve heard is that it is Catholic without the giant stick up it’s ass. In a Lutheran church, there are no saints, there is no pope, you confess through prayer directly to God instead of in a confessional to a priest, etc. I always felt very at ease in Lutheran churches, and that it was very much about having a relationship with God, and less about the right and wrong way to ‘serve’ Him. For a few years of my young adult life, I was very religious. I went to Church every Sunday, often alone as my mom didn’t want to go and my dad was at work. I went through my first holy communion, and confirmation. I prayed daily, and tried to live my life with God leading my decisions. I felt connected to Him. I can’t remember when I started drifting away from that, nor can I remember when I stopped believing in church, but I remember questioning what I heard in a new way.
I’ve had a hard time seeing God as our Father. The reason for this is because it’s hard to see suffering, and accept that an omnipotent father would allow his children to suffer like that. The explanations that I received from church, priests, religious friends, etc never satisfied me. It all seemed a cop out to me- God has a plan, one day Jesus will return and after this big fight, there will be peace and happiness for a long time (but not forever). The devil is at work, and caused this. Whatever I heard, did not sit well.
I also have a hard time seeing God as our Father because we’re taught that if we sin, and don’t repent, we will spend an eternity suffering in Hell (Catholics are even taught that anyone not baptized Catholic will spend an eternity in hell). Anyone that is a parent can tell you that no matter what, they will never stop loving their child. Their kid could murder, torture, whatever people, and while they would be horrified, a parent would still have love for their child. This is the kind of love we are taught God has for us. Now, I consider eternity. Our lives on Earth, even if we live to an old age here, are insignificant when comparing it to eternity. How could I possibly do something so horrible in this short amount of time on Earth, that would warrant an eternity of suffering in hell? To me, that’s like a putting a kid in time-out for the rest of their life as punishment for something that they did one day. The punishment is immensely cruel in comparison. How could someone punish their child so severely?
So- anyways, I started questioning things. I no longer found solace in my religion. I settled on believing in God, and Jesus, but that the Bible (especially the old testament) was fables and morals to help people live good lives. For a long time, I just lived my life as best I could, and didn’t feel church was necessary.
I’ve always been very interested in learning about other religions. This last year, I’ve tried to get deeper understandings of them. I’ve been going to Shamanic guided meditations. I’ve read books delving into beliefs and practices of religions, and how they compare and differ. I’ve discussed religion with different people, and looked things up online. I now plan to go to services at different churches/temples/etc to try and get an even deeper understanding. That’s why I went back to my old church today. It’s been so long, I wanted to see what I remembered, if anything has changed, and I wanted to see if I kept an open mind and heart if it would resonate with me again like it did so many years ago. There were some small things I forgot about (like how extensively it’s taught that God wants us to have a relationship with Him), but mostly it was exactly how I remembered. As for connecting to it – I didn’t really. There were moments though. During some of the songs, I got goosebumps. And there were times that I could feel the connection to God of the people around me. And during the sermon, there was a period of time I felt my third eye opening as I was considering what the pastor was saying. But, I didn’t feel connected to the God they were talking about. It didn’t resonate with me on a personal level. I couldn’t get past the comments about His forgiveness, about Him wanting a relationship with us and to have a conversation with us; basically, the things that humanized Him. I tried to be open minded, but I guess I had more trouble letting go my personal beliefs to accept what I was hearing than I’d hoped I would.
I did not go with the hope/expectation that my opinions would change. I understand what it feels like to be close to the God that Lutherans worship, and I understand their interpretation of the bible. I just wanted to see if I would connect with those beliefs again, and what parts of the religion I still resonate with. What I found was that not much has really changed for me at this point. I still believe in a god, I still believe in doing good, and treating others well, and I still believe that we are souls that do not cease to exist when our bodies die. I still disagree with communion, god as a father, and other details that are taught. But the experience did remind me of the benefit and comfort of the community that comes from the church. I found that over the years, I’ve gotten so caught up with what I agree and disagree with about churches and religions, that I lost sight of how a congregation supports each other through hard times. A sense of community is a valuable thing, and a church is full of people willing to pray for you, hear your struggles, and even watch your kids or make you a meal during a hard time. So- no, I don’t believe going to church is necessary for a relationship with God the father (if that’s what you believe), or that you should blindly follow the church (because it has know to become corrupted at times), or that what is taught in the church always coincides with what the religion is supposed to teach, but I do believe that it is important for a person to have a place to go where they feel connected to their God, where they feel safe and welcome to practice what they believe, and where they can connect and grow with people that have aligning views.
I’m happy that my experience today brought me a new revelation about religion, even if it was a small revelation. I plan to visit a Mormon Church next, and possibly go multiple times to get a better understanding of their beliefs and ways of life. I’m excited to see what else I learn, and what new revelations I will have!
My goals…
| I want to cover my body in words and art that are meaningful to me and make me think and feel things. I want to meet new people, and see new places, that make me question my beliefs and that open my eyes to how small I am in this world. I want to make a difference in people’s lives and give them tools to think openly, feel freely, and to express themselves. I want to help people, especially those that are struggling more than I am. And I want to do all this on my own terms. |
growing into a better person
Here’s to learning the difference between someone that makes you a better version of yourself, and someone that changes you into their opinion of a better person.
I spent a long time in a relationship with someone that tried very hard to help me grow into a better person. He cared for me, and wanted the best for me. The problem was, his opinion differed from mine on what would make me a better person. Because I cared for him too, I found myself listening to him. I always felt an internal struggle between doing what I felt was right, and what he felt was right; I often tried to find a middle ground, but that never worked.
Growing into a better person is a difficult thing. There’s no rule book, no right or wrong answers, you just figure it out as you go. So, I figured that there’s no chance that my way is always going to be right. Knowing this, I followed his opinions a lot. But, when I disagreed with him, he would fight me till I did things his way.
All I know from this experience, is that I need to trust myself. I’m the one that has to live with who I grow into. I have to be confident in who I become as a person. And while I am 100% sure that I have made, and will make, mistakes along the way, I have to become my own version of a better person. I have to decide who I want to become, and do it. Listening to advice from others is an important thing to do, but I cannot lose myself along the way.
I now choose to be around people that I feel push me in the right directions. I grow with people that are on a strong path, and are open minded. The people I choose to help me grow now inspire me to change myself; they don’t tell me how I should be different, they are different and lead by example. I believe everyone has something positive to teach, and I am doing my best to be as open to these things as I can. In my opinion, that’s the best way to grow into a better person… but who knows? Maybe I’m wrong, and later I’ll be posting a completely different opinion…
livingmygreatadventure 